Watchers of the Sky by Noyes, Alfred, 1880-1958

Her red lips parted, and between them shone, The little teeth like white pomegranate seeds. He saw her frightened eyes. Then, with a cry, Her arms went round him, and her eyelids closed. Lying against his heart, she set her lips Against his lips, and claimed him for her own.

IV

One frosty night, as Tycho bent his way Home to the dark old abbey, he upraised His eyes, and saw a portent in the sky. There, in its most familiar patch of blue, Where Cassiopeia's five-fold glory burned, An unknown brilliance quivered, a huge star Unseen before, a strange new visitant To heavens unchangeable, as the world believed, Since the creation. Could new stars be born? Night after night he watched that miracle Growing and changing colour as it grew; White at the first, and large as Jupiter; And, in the third month, yellow, and larger yet; Red in the fifth month, like Aldebaran, And larger even than Lyra. In the seventh, Bluish like Saturn; whence it dulled and dwined Little by little, till after eight months more Into the dark abysmal blue of night, Whence it arose, the wonder died away. But, while it blazed above him, Tycho brought Those delicate records of two hundred nights To Copenhagen. There, in his golden mask, At supper with Pratensis, who believed Only what old books told him, Tycho met Dancey, the French Ambassador, rainbow-gay In satin hose and doublet, supple and thin, Brown-eyed, and bearded with a soft black tuft Neat as a blackbird's wing,--a spirit as keen And swift as France on all the starry trails Of thought. He saw the deep and simple fire, The mystery of all genius in those eyes Above that golden wizard. Tycho raised His wine-cup, brimming--they thought--with purple dreams; And bade them drink to their triumphant Queen Of all the Muses, to their Lady of Light Urania, and the great new star. They laughed, Thinking the young astrologer's golden mask Hid a sardonic jest. "The skies are clear," Said Tycho Brahe, "and we have eyes to see. Put out your candles. Open those windows there!" The colder darkness breathed upon their brows, And Tycho pointed, into the deep blue night. There, in their most immutable height of heaven, In _ipso caelo_, in the ethereal realm, Beyond all planets, red as Mars it burned, The one impossible glory. "But it's true!" Pratensis gasped; then, clutching the first straw, "Now I recall how Pliny the Elder said, Hipparchus also saw a strange new star, Not where the comets, not where the _Rosae_ bloom And fade, but in that solid crystal sphere Where nothing changes." Tycho smiled, and showed The record of his watchings. "But the world Must know all this," cried Dancey. "You must print it." "Print it?" said Tycho, turning that golden mask On both his friends. "Could I, a noble, print This trafficking with Urania in a book? They'd hound me out of Denmark! This disgrace Of work, with hands or brain, no matter why, No matter how, in one who ought to dwell Fixed to the solid upper sphere, my friends, Would never be forgiven." Dancey stared In mute amazement, but that mask of gold Outstared him, sphinx-like, and inscrutable.